Five Years at Mike's
by Prince Jacque
Summary: "...we knocked on his door every night, because he would go in that office at midnight, and wouldn't come out until six in the morning. We had to check on him, make sure he was alive and well. If he wasn't, then neither were we..."
1. Siblings

(Yes, I know that cover is the fan-made Hetalia character, Mexico, but for this story, he is supposed to be Freddy. On Quotev, each chapter will have pictures showing how each character is supposed to look.)

**Genres: Tragedy, Drama.**

**Warnings/PossibleTriggers: ableism, alcoholism, mentioned past death, emotional/psychological abuse, mental illness, non-con, physical abuse, profanity, queerphobia, racism, explicit sexual content, slurs.**

**A/N: the entirety of the story is told from Freddy's first-person perspective.**

* * *

><p>We weren't actually siblings, but we considered ourselves that because we came to the Autenburg foster home on the same day.<p>

There was actually a girl who came in before I did. She was young and small in stature. She had golden curly locks cupping her head like an infant's hair. She had brown eyes and skin that was a little tanned for a white girl. In contrast, she wore a pretty dull brown dress with beaten sneakers. Her cocoa brown eyes were wide with fear of her new and unfamiliar home. All of the other kids around her had long gotten used to their surroundings, making her stick out like a black lamb.

At the time, I was just a bratty teenager who couldn't care any less about the other housemates around me. I only cared about my own situation and where I was going after this ordeal. Anger was still brewing within me as I damned my fate and even others who had nothing to do with it.

I slumped down against the concrete wall behind me right then and there, then slid down to the cold floor, tasting the bitterness that boiled in my heart. It wasn't long before I heard scuffling sounds coming towards me. I gritted my teeth in irritation at the mere idea of some toddler hoping to make a playmate out of my presence.

A tiny hand touched my broad, tanned one. It was cold and clammy.

"Uhm…excuse me, sir…" a small female voice squeaked nervously. I could hear a light Italian accent behind it. Of course, she was too young to have developed that deep of an accent "Why…are your clothes burned?"

I looked up at her cherub-like face and into her cocoa brown eyes gazing back at me in apologetic curiosity, then I looked back down at the scorched remains of my blazer.

And for the first time in my life, I cried.

* * *

><p>Her name was Ciana, but she insisted on being called Chica, as she said her grandmother called her so much more often than her actual name. I was right to assume that she was Italian.<p>

She was quite the imaginative girl. She spent several hours telling me stories and folklore that her family had passed on and even some she made up on her own. I listened, happy to see her fear of our new home had dissolved so easily upon meeting me. I had so much fun with her, being entrapped in her tales, that I didn't even realize how many hours had passed before another kid arrived.

At first glance, I couldn't tell what gender they were. They had short violet hair in a neat undercut and crystal blue eyes. They had an almost envious pallor of skin and gracefully androgynous face structure. They were too young to have developed any curves or muscles to indicate their sex. Their outfit had also caught my attention. It was a snug-fitting ensemble of a dark purple pants suit with a long-sleeved red shirt and an indigo bow tie. They seemed to be dressed rather fancy for someone who was being taken into a foster home.

"Huh? I don't have time to deal with a goddamned mute…" chided one of the men who led him into the room.

"Look, just feed 'm, keep 'm clean, and and make sure he don't die on us," snarked the other.

"_Ah, so he's a boy,_" I thought as I looked in their direction.

I was actually pretty glad, at the moment, to think of having another boy my age with me.

When they sat over on the old, worn out bed in the corner of the room, I noticed them clutching something to their chest.

Out of pure curiosity, I disregarded any etiquette I had and walked over to them to get a closer look at the item.

A notebook.

A thick one, at that.

I hadn't noticed that I had abandoned Chica and that she took the privilege of following me. Her attention was quickly directed away from me once she saw the kid.

I watched as she walked past me and approached the child with an extended hand "Hello, I'm Chica, and who might you be?"

The child shook her hand with a slight smile and began to flip through the pages on their notebook. They turned it around to show a pre-written message: "_Jean Bonnefoy. Please call me Bonnie_."

Of course, the first thought that ran through my mind was "_Why didn't he just say it?_"

At this point, I could assume Chica was really raised to have manners, because she only nodded and said "Well, in that case, I should probably tell you my real name, too. My name is Ciana Cremona, but my grandmama always called me Chica."

Bonnie nodded, turned to a fresh new page towards the back of the notebook and began to scribble a new response: "_That's a pretty name, honey._"

Chica chuckled in flattery, her cheeks reddening quickly.

Finally, I decided to speak up instead of just standing and watching "Hey, Bonnie, is it?" I questioned, making sure I was pronouncing it correctly "How old are you?"

They flipped to another page close to where they originally had their name written. Another pre-written message was scrawled: "_13_" I supposed they had these answers already written down because they were frequently asked and common questions.

"Oh, just a year behind me," I commented.

"And seven years ahead of me," Chica chimed in.

At that point, I figured I had broken the ice well enough to point out the elephant in the room "Bonnie, why aren't you talking?"

Their smile disappeared and it turned into something more vulnerable.

They turned to another page close to where their age and name were "_I can't talk. I'm mute. I use this notebook for people who don't know sign language._"

The man's words from earlier rang in my head: "…_a goddamned mute_…"

"_That's what it means to be mute?_" I thought "_It doesn't just mean to be deaf?_"

Suddenly Chica jumped "Oh! My papa just started teaching me sign language!"

Bonnie's smile returned and they began to scribble a new message: "_Can you show me?_"

The still excited blonde grinned widely as her hands danced across the air in an array of cryptic signs. Bonnie replied instantly in the same manner.

Feeling left out, I blurted "What's he saying?"

Just as Chica opened her mouth to answer me, Bonnie tapped her shoulder and signed another message to her, longer this time. She nodded understandably.

"At first, Bonnie said they were from France," she answered to me "Just now, they said they don't like to be called "he"."

I raised a brow "Why not?"

"Bonnie says they're not a boy, but they're not a girl," explained Chica "Bonnie says they're an androgyne."

"An…dro-gyne?" I attempted to sound out the word "You mean "androgynous"?"

"Yes," confirmed Chica "It means they're both a girl and a boy at the same time. Please, just use "they" when talking about them."

At the time, my narrow prepubescent mind was ready to dismiss the abnormal notion right away with a condescendingly rhetorical question. However, the minute I opened my mouth to speak, I caught sight of Bonnie's expectant pleading blue eyes. Their pale lips were pursed in nervousness.

"Okay. I will."

* * *

><p>The second half of my first day in the foster home was frustratingly boring.<p>

Bonnie and Chica spent hours signing each other, the young blonde's giggles taunting me from afar.

However, things quickly sparked up when a red-headed boy ran into the room.

No, he literally _ran_ in, immediately locking on to a discarded pirate toy in front of me.

His accent was a little thick, but I could get out the words "Wow! A pirate toy! Just like the one from Nana's!"

Over his excited ramblings, I decided to eavesdrop on the men who brought him in here again.

"You say his mama died givin' birth to 'm?"

"Yup."

"Then where the hell has he been these past nine years?"

"With this crazy homeless woman on the street."

"Tch, you couldn't just leave 'm with her?"

"I've gotta do my job, man."

Another fire of anger ignited in my gut and in that moment, I remembered why I couldn't stay too happy for too long in this place. They really didn't give a shit about us. They spoke however they wanted around us and didn't even have the respect to talk about us behind our backs.

"As if we didn't have enough retarded kids in here."

"Quit your bitching. It's just ADD."

I looked to the little Irish boy "_So that's why he's so hyper_," A sense of deep melancholy dowsed my flaming anger. Perhaps it was because he was another boy like me. Perhaps it was because he was being criticized for being so happy. Perhaps it was hearing how and why he was sent here. Either way, I grew an instant attachment to him.

I crouched to his level "Hey kid, I see you like pirates," I said.

His green eyes sparkled with joy "Yeah! Aren't they amazing?" he cheered, holding the toy in his hand.

"Definitely adventurous," I said.

"And so courageous!" he beamed at the pirate toy in his hand as he started to shift it into a new pose "I've always wanted to be as brave as a pirate. They can travel wherever they want without worry!"

I felt my face spread into a smile.

"I'd call myself Foxy- King of Pirate Cove!" he looked back up to me "What do you wanna be when you grow up? Will you give yourself a new name?"

I chuckled "Heh, I'm pretty content with Fredward Antonio III for now," I then thought to myself "_As for what I wanna be?…Alive would be nice, loved, and happy, too_."

* * *

><p><strong>The chapters are gonna be pretty short since it's just Freddy documenting each moment in his life.<strong>


	2. Father

**Glad to see all the positive feedback for just the first chapter. Thanks, everyone! :)**

* * *

><p>It was a year before he took us in.<p>

Twelve whole months of living in Autenberg.

Three-hundred sixty-five days, give or take.

In that amount of time, I learned quite a few things.

One fact that took a little longer for me to understand was that the foster home was not in Spain. I should have suspected that when the white men took me away for that long drive. They spoke in a language that was extremely strange to me and so I avoided speaking to them. However, I realized that they had also spoken English, a language my neighborhood was thankfully familiar with.

The first English statement I asked them was "Where are we going?"

A sleazy one simply answered "Autenberg Foster Care."

I refused to ask any other questions after that.

It wasn't until I was actually in the foster home that I realize I had been taken to a new country entirely. We hardly left the actual building, so I didn't have the opportunity to explore the differences of this country's streets compared to the ones in my home. A few select kids like Bonnie, Foxy, Chica and myself were from different parts of Europe. None of them were from Spain, though. I was the only brown face in the building. Although, there were a good chunk of kids with us who spoke the same strange language as the men who took me in and the people who ran the foster home. I was just lucky that Chica, Bonnie and Foxy were also acquainted with English. It wasn't unrealistic though. English was a necessity to be educated in.

One day, I grew uncomfortable with the cryptic language spoken around us and asked Chica where she believes we are.

She told me we were in Germany.

Another thing I learned while I lived in that building was that we didn't live in that foster home. We were _trapped_.

Those people just barely kept us alive and breathing so that we could look appealing to any amateur parent that walked in. For food, we were given stale bread, boiled potatoes and their weird processed German sausage. We ate that every day no matter what meal it was. Its taste is still permanently tattooed on my tongue. Shockingly, they had a surplus of the food. We probably shouldn't have been all that surprised, though, since it was such low quality food. No one ever competed for it. In fact, some kids would starve themselves out of frustration until they finally gave into their pleading hunger. Every time I ate the Germans' sausage, I tried ever so hard to imagine it was my father's lechazo, just so I could swallow it down.

I could only be thankful that they hired maids to keep the place clean. Of course, they only did so because they didn't want us to get sick. No one wants to adopt a sick and dying kid. I just wish they cared enough to give us more clothes than the ones we came in with. At the end of the day, we would simply peel off our clothes, hand them to the maids and swap them out for smocks that were supposed to suffice for sleeping gowns.

They didn't care to separate the girls and the boys in the bedrooms, so Bonnie and I would set the little brats straight if they ever tried to get frisky with the girls. Our dominance and age advantage over the others earned us the title as the Big Brothers of everyone, in spite of Bonnie's gender. However, we didn't want to be responsible for all of the kids. There were really only two kids we genuinely cared for.

"Hey kids, it's Teddy Fazbear!"

Chica and Foxy roared into laughter, the red-headed boy clutching his stomach and rolling over to his side.

I found an old, ragged teddy bear in the toy box of the playroom a few hours ago. I've been entertaining Chica and Foxy with it like a puppet and put on my best stereotypical American white voice. The two found it much more funny than I expected them to. I suppose we all found the generic American accent rather funny due to our native homes.

At some point, Foxy exclaimed "Freddy Fazbear!" in a fit of excitement.

I chuckled at the boy's diction "Freddy Fazbear?"

"Ah, yes! That's perfect, Foxy!" Chica said.

Bonnie signed to us that they agreed. That was another thing I learned while I was in this foster home. Bonnie had taken the time to teach Chica, Foxy and I sign language so we could all communicate with one another. Of course, with Foxy's befuddled attention span, he never fully got the hang of it, but he can still understand us and that was all that mattered.

"_I think it's an adorable nickname, Freddy_," Bonnie signed to me with a teasing smile.

I shook my head "Of course you do, Bon."

We continued toying with the worn out teddy bear, laughing gleefully as we ridiculed the voice I had assigned to it. Even Bonnie could laugh. I liked their voice. It was smooth and elegant for someone their age.

While we were laughing, I realized the door had opened and there had been a new man's voice speaking for quite a while.

"…that group of kids over there looks like they're having a lot of fun…"

While the others were still joking around with the bear, I looked over my shoulder and saw a man.

He was a modest age, probably in his thirties. He had sandy brown hair in a combed over undercut and dark brown eyes adorning black-rimmed glasses. His features were pretty sharp and he was rather thin for an adult man. He wore a denim button-down shirt and a pair of even darker denim jeans.

He was grinning in our direction, but it was a smile I hadn't seen in a long time. It was a smile of genuine joy. It wasn't filled with greed or faked. He looked truthfully happy to see us.

"Which one do you want?" asked one of the workers.

The man fiddled with his fingers "Uhm…is it possible that I can talk with all four of them?"

The worker shrugged "Knock yourself out," he then turned to us "You guys," Upon uttering the two words, each one of us perked up our heads to attention. With an incline of his head, the worker nonverbally called us over to him.

We complied and approached him and the man "Kids, this nice man would like to get to know you," he said.

Of course, he and other workers like him were only acting this courteous when they were in front of people outside the building. They would never pay us this amount of respect.

* * *

><p>"Well, hi kids. My name is Mike Schmidt," If I wasn't mistaken, I would have thought the man was insecure around us. He was carful, unsure of how to politely interact with children.<p>

"Hey Mike. My name's Foxy!" greeted our red-headed sibling in his exuberance.

"I'm Chica," the youngest squeaked with her hands clasped over each other like a well-mannered woman.

We were sitting in what we dubbed "The Conference Room" where kids and adults would sit and talk with one another to show if the adult really wanted to adopt the kid. There was a faded wooden desk between Mike and us. We were lined up, side by side, in our own chairs.

I decided to spare Bonnie the effort to turning to the correct page on their notebook to introduce themself "They're Bonnie," I said, pointing towards the violet-haired child.

I could see the Mike's eyebrow twitch slightly in confusion, but he didn't make any remark.

"And he's Freddy," chirped Chica.

A faint hint of a blush painted my face. Even though it was a common nickname, I thought it was pretty ridiculous for a guy like me.

"Ah, Freddy, what a nice name," Mike commented. His brown eyes roamed to my hand "And I suppose we should introduce this little guy, too?"

I realized he was motioning towards the raggedy bear in my hand, which I hadn't noticed I was still holding.

"Well, this guy's the one who's really named Freddy," I said "He's Freddy Fazbear. I'm Fredward Antonio."

"Oh," remarked Mike in acknowledgement "Well in that case, you both have very nice names."

* * *

><p>I liked Mike. He was much different from the other adults I faced. He wasn't fake. He wasn't after materialistic things like money. He was friendly, reassuring, the kind of man who had all the answers. I could tell the others liked him, too, which was good, since he apparently had no intention of separating us.<p>

At first I was suspicious. I mean, what kind of person would want to adopt four children, two of them breaching their teens, all at once? However, after getting to know Mike, I couldn't imagine him having any bad intentions. He just wasn't that kind of guy.

I was sad when he left at first. Even when I knew he was coming back to adopt us, I wanted nothing more than to go home with him and my newfound siblings. He told us he had a wife at home who was eager to be a mother, too.

I knew I should have been outraged by the mere idea of having my parents replaced, but that fire had long since been extinguished. I had accepted that my parents were dead and I was lucky enough to have any caretakers at all. It hurt like a bitch to admit it, but I had to. It had been a whole year after all, and a man and a woman were offering their all to be my parents. I could at least be grateful about that, knowing the other children in Autenburg wouldn't be given the same.

* * *

><p><strong>Lechazo- a Spanish dish made from veal (lamb meat).<strong>

**A/N: When Freddy does the Fazbear voice, he's supposed to sound like MrCreepyPasta when he makes his FNAF audios. Also, I don't mean to make Freddy sound like one of those annoying Social Justice Warrior on Tumblr who hates white people on sight. This story is pretty raw and as a person of color, Freddy feels kinda threatened by white people.**


	3. Family

The first six months that we lived there were the best I've had in my life.

Mike had brought us home to meet his wife, also known as our new mom. Her name was Carmella. She wasn't like the stereotypical housewife. She was a fresh, modern day type of woman. She had chocolate curls for hair that she would lazily tie into a ponytail and crystal blue eyes. She was about the same height as Mike and had a wry smirk that instantly infused you with ease whenever she flashed it. She was a definite tomboy and a free spirit, but thankfully, she knew her limits. She knew was still a parent and had to remain an adult for us.

As the only two females in the house, she and Chica got along beautifully. Carmella beamed at her insight and intelligence. I was genuinely glad that the girl finally had a woman to look up too. Sure, Bonnie and I did a decent job taking care of her, but I still think Chica deserved to have a female she can relate to.

Carmella and Mike, together, made sure to treat Foxy's ADD with care and were very tolerant of his behavior. Sure, they would correct his behavior here and there, but it was needed. A mental illness couldn't be helped, but that didn't mean the boy couldn't learn common mannerisms and niceties. If anything, he was pretty quick to catch on, especially with the medical care he had also gotten.

Like Foxy's illness, our new parents also worked around Bonnie's muteness and accepted that we would translate for them. Bonnie's gender was just as easily accepted. Mike said he had assumed the individual was non-binary once I referred to them as "they" when we met at Autenberg. Carmella apparently had a transgendered boyfriend back in college and passed her knowledge about genderqueers and the trans community to Mike. After hearing that, Chica asked if Carmella could educate us as well. She happily obliged.

The four of us attended school, Chica and Foxy going to elementary school. As a fifteen year old, I was a freshman in high school, which was unfortunate because I wanted to protect Bonnie, who was still in junior high, from bullies.

They were ridiculed for being mute. I guess the bullies figured that because they weren't like the deaf students and they were _choosing_ not to talk, they deserved to be teased. They were also called "gay" and a "faggot" for the way they dressed and acted. Bonnie wouldn't tell me these things up front, but I noticed flowering bruises budding on their skin everyday. Carmella had long since asked about them as well, but all Bonnie had to do was lie to her and the woman would respect their privacy and leave the topic. Thankfully, I was much more abrasive.

I cornered them when we were about to turn in for the night and out of frustration, they spilled all the details. One thing I learned about Bonnie was that they hardly ever expressed emotions, but if you were to prevent them from getting the sleep they want, they'll show no mercy.

Mike and Carmella jumped on the bullying situation with a lot of vigor. Bonnie said it helped, but I never found out if it was true or they were lying again.

I think the happiest day we ever shared together was when Mike and I were grocery shopping. I was busy looking for my favorite brand of jerky when Mike called me over. When I came over to him, it had turned out that he had found an entire line of toys from the same company as the one who made Chica's "Freddy Fazbear" toy. He had decided on the spur of the moment to buy five new toys to go along with it; a fox, a rabbit, a puppet, a boy with a pinwheel hat, and a baby bird. I say "bird" because the rest of the drive home, Mike and I debated on whether it was a baby chicken or duck. Once Chica got her hands on it, she declared it to be a baby chicken.

The worst day we've ever shared together was also shared with Mike. I had just finished winning another round of Kirby's Yarn Adventures with Bonnie when he pulled me to the side. He said he trusted me with this information at the time because I was the eldest, even though Bonnie was only a year behind me. I could see the red puffiness in his eyes and his cheeks streaked in dried tears. He was seated on the guest bedroom futon with his hands fidgeting over each other and his head hung. I stood before him with the door closed behind me, looking at his pitiful state. I didn't like seeing Mike like that. It made me feel sick.

He asked me if I had noticed how often Carmella had been staying in bed. I told him yes. He then asked if I wanted to know why she was laid off from her job. I wanted to tell him no.

Apparently, the reason all four of us were adopted at once was because Carmella had had four failed pregnancies in her attempt to have children over the years. Mike said he got news from the hospital that explained why.

It happened so fast.

It was just two weeks after that talk.

I think out of everyone, Chica took it the hardest. She had lost her best friend, after all. I could tell it was eating her alive because she was the one person who hadn't cried. Her eyes told a different story. The cocoa brown orbs were vacant and empty. The girl looked as though Carmella had taken her along on her trip to heaven.

The day after our mother's passing, Mike had gotten into a heated argument with his cousin Jeremy. I couldn't quite figure out who was in the wrong, but I didn't care. Our mother had just died for Jesus' sake. I didn't have the patience nor the time to fuss over a family rivalry that had nothing to do with me. Besides, I always overheard Mike and Carmella gossip about what a nuisance Jeremy was in the past. What importance could he have with us?

About a week after the funeral, we began to receive a lot of phone calls from this one man. We never caught his name or saw his face because he was an abroad friend of Mike, but we referred to him as The Phone Guy. He would always call Mike on the landline in his office and ask how he was doing. Mike appreciated the sentiments, but unfortunately, The Phone Guy was a talker and Mike quickly got irritated with his calls. He would either choose to ignore his calls or put in on speaker and let the man babble on.

Like every family, we were able to recover from the loss. My siblings and I were just fine. We supported each other and filled in the place of our mom. However, Mike was detached. He made no effort to try and reach out to us. He carried a shadow of sorrow and grief with him wherever he went. But…my siblings and I…we were so jovial about our recovery, that we paid no mind to our father. We shouldn't have been so selfish. We should have asked how he was doing instead of celebrating our own peace with Carmella's death. We should have watched over him before it was too late.

The day when he locked the door in that office for the first time was the day it all ended. It was the day that the best six months of my life were over.

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry for the short chapter, everyone, but I really want to focus on chapter content and not just the word count.<strong>


	4. Office

**I might be slower on the updates since I'm doing my junior research paper at the moment, but it's only for a short period of time.**

* * *

><p>"<em>Hello, hello? Uh, I wanted to record a message for you to see how you've been doing since, well, the funeral service and everything. Um, I didn't get to see you at the repass, but I did get to see the kids. I hope you all are holding up well. So, I know all of this can be a bit overwhelming, especially with the kids, but I'm here to tell you that I'm here for you. Uh, you'll be fine. So, let's just focus on getting things back to the way they were. Okay?<em>"

If you listened closely, you could hear Mike's friend leaving his message on the answering machine. We got to meet him in person for the first time at the repass. Although he was white, his skin wasn't as pale as the German folk around here. He must have been from a state where more sunlight hit its people. He was tall with an endearing smile almost as comforting as our mother's. His kind eyes were as green as plant life and his short brown hair comparable to that of tree bark. Beneath his hair, I noticed the cotton of bandages. None of us dared to question it.

He was an honest and open man with more awkwardness than Mike. Surprisingly, it made him all the more approachable. He focused his attention on consoling us as well as the other grieving members of our new family that we had never gotten the chance to meet. He told us his name was Gilbert, but we still nicknamed him Phone Guy.

He asked where Mike was.

I didn't have the guts to tell him our father was having a heated argument with Jeremy.

"_Uh, let's see…oh! Did you get the cake I sent? Uh, it's kind of a layered chocolate-vanilla type of dessert, you know. Enough for the whole family! Um, but don't let me take credit for it. My partner made it. He owns a bakery just down the street from here. If you guys ever come to the states, I would love for you to go there._"

Mike holed himself up in his office ever since the funeral. We just assumed he was working or enjoying his privacy as anyone would. So we just tended to our own affairs.

Bonnie was the first one to intervene and knock on the west door. When I asked what they were doing, they said they smelled alcohol. Scared, I slammed my palm against the wooden door until Mike opened it for us.

His blue eyes held a blurry sleaziness that disgusted me. One of the buttons on his shirt was undone as if he had gotten too hot in his drunken haze. He absolutely _reeked_ of liquor.

I was caught off guard by the unfamiliar man before me, the man that I was supposed to believe was the kind man who took us into his home "What do you think you're doing?!" I scolded, unsure of what to say.

Mike scowled at me as if I were some type of nuisance.

"Go to bed, guys," he slurred "I'm trying to relax."

"You've been in there for _hours_," I said "You have kids who need attention but instead you're drinking away the day."

Mike raised a hand to strike me, but I swatted it away before it could land on my face. I was nearing sixteen and I was growing to be a match to Mike in terms of muscle.

He grunted, glaring daggers at me "You two are old enough to take care of yourselves."

Just as I opened my mouth to yell at him, the door slammed in my face.

"_Now I know things may be difficult for now, but it's going to turn up soon. I promise. Uh, if you ever need someone to talk to, don't be afraid to call me. Okay? Good. Just keep your head up and remember: nothing lasts forever, meaning this grieving period is going to end and you'll be happy again. Just you, the kids, your family and friends. We'll all be happy together._"

We told Chica and Foxy to steer clear of Mike's office, but of course we didn't tell them the truth. We told them Mike needs some alone time due to Carmella's death because "different people grieve in different ways". Bonnie was much better at handling them than I was.

However, I found out that Chica had been sneaking around to the east door at night to check on Mike. She would peer into the window and watch Mike guzzle down beer after beer. Once, I finally caught Chica in the act. We must have made too much noise because Mike had chucked the beer bottle at the window where it smashed into several pieces.

"_So, just remember that Carmella is in a better place now and she's not suffering anymore. Uh, I don't want to turn the situation on myself, but my grandmother passed recently. Uh, y'know, so we're kind of in the same boat. Uh…sorry, I-I just don't want you to feel alone._"

Now Bonnie had to patrol the west door to make sure Chica didn't try to sneak past them. They quickly found out that if they just stood by the east door, Chica will just wait in hiding until they left for bed. So they remained in the west wing, listened for Chica and then put her to bed if she ever wandered the halls again.

However, while at they were new post, Bonnie found another problem.

Foxy had caught Chica's contagious curiosity.

The boy thought it was all fun and games and would run down to the west door to surprise Bonnie. It became habitual for the lanky teenager to catch Foxy in mid-leap. On time, however, Foxy actual managed to jump _into_ Mike's office with an energetic squeal of excitement.

The boy waltzed out of the office with a red hand-shaped mark on his cheek.

Horrified, Bonnie took the red-head into his arms, who surprised them by throwing his head back in laughter. He told us the reason he was so pleased was because he had succeeded in getting Mike to interact with him again.

"_Uh, now I also wanted to answer a question you may get asked sooner or later. You see, a few of your family members and the kids have noticed about the bandages beneath my hair. Uh, remember when I said my partner and I were going camping a while ago? Well, we had a slight run-in with a bear. Well, I should say _I_ had the run-in. It's amazing how the human body can live without the frontal lobe._"

It continued like this for months. Mike had become nothing more than a source of income for us. How he managed to drag himself out of his bed every morning and go to work was a mystery to me. That was the only time he was a functioning human being. But as soon as he entered the house, he went back to being a roaming mass. To him, we were nothing but bothersome entities in his space that he intended to avoid at all costs. Thankfully, he never tried to hit any of us again. If we got too close to him, he would merely push us away like obstacles.

"_Y-Yeah, funny how life works that way. Crazy incidences just seem to happen with no rhyme or reason. But hey, I'm just grateful for the good things life gives us, y'know? I'll chat with you tomorrow. Uh, check the mail, and spend time with the kids. Gotta keep a positive attitude. Alright, good night, Mike!_"

We were close to losing our father, too close to losing both of our parents as quickly as we had gained them. But we had to make sure that didn't happen. So we knocked on the door of that tiny cubicle office as Phone Guy's messages piled up. We knocked on his door every night, because he would go in that office at midnight, and wouldn't come out until six in the morning. We had to check on him, make sure he was alive and well. If he wasn't, then neither were we.

* * *

><p><strong>After editing the original script of Phone Guy, I just came to realize how often the man says "Uh". Resisting the urge to edit them out was near impossible for me. Also, yes I made Phone Guy have a boyfriend, but he's a little too shy to directly call him that. So he calls him his partner.<strong>


End file.
